Growing Up Holmes
by Amiyrasmom
Summary: Another Honey 'Verse...finally! Yay! Okay so this one deals more with Mycroft and Molly's daughter and is told from her point of view as she grows up surrounded by our favorite Honey 'Verse characters. Let me know what you think.
1. An Introduction to Bea

**Growing up Holmes**

**Prologue: An Introduction to Beatrice**

First off I should tell you that I hate my name. Beatrice. Ugh. It's awful. It sounds like an old spinster lady with about a million cats. I hate cats. So just call me Bea. It's pronounced Bay, by the way. I like my nickname. It suits me. No I have no idea which of the adults around me gave me that nickname and I couldn't care less.

Second, I'm an only child…sort of. I mean my parents only had me but well…my cousins spent as much time growing up with us as they do with their dads. Of course, I spent as much time with my uncles as I do with my mom and dad. So the three of us may as well be siblings. Then there's my other quasi cousin who likes to hang out with us when his moms are having…well, I'm sure you know what I mean. Archie's a bit shy and more embarrassed by his mom's behavior than he should be. Not that their behavior is bad or anything because it's not. Just one of his mom's is a government agent that is my dad's bodyguard and the other…well, she used to be a…fallen woman? I'm trying to be delicate. Not exactly a Holmesian trait, I know, but I can try. And then there are all the Brody and Lestrade and Fallon cousins. They're Mr. Greg's grandkids and Sgt. Sally's kids.

Third, I am off the charts smart. I am not being arrogant. It's the truth. Uncle Sherlock says I'm smarter even than he is. It's a burden as much as a gift. I know myself and I know I have the Holmes gene that makes me…well, arrogant and uncaring at times. I really don't much care about anyone except my family. I've had some friends that have come close but…no, actually I haven't. Uncle John tells me not to worry about it and I don't. If I get lonely then I have my cousins. They're enough for me. Mom and Uncle John always snicker a bit when I say that but I don't know why.

Fourth, well…I'm not sure really. Most of the things you need to know about me you'll learn for yourself as you read through my experiences. It is inevitable. You may also learn more about those close to me…if you're not idiots like I think you are.

Right. So you're wondering why I'm writing this, aren't you? Well it's simple really. I was kidnapped…again. Only this time I was kidnapped from my school and so they can require me to get counseling. Which is stupid. My kidnapping didn't upset me. It never has…except for once. But my therapist won't release me from this purgatory until she can believe that I am over the shock and terror that other people would have in that situation.

Honestly! I'm seventeen years old and I've been kidnapped fifteen times that I can remember. There was the first one and the only one that terrified me. I was five and Jim Moriarty took me from the street in front of my preschool. Right under my bodyguard and nanny's noses. Uncle Sherlock, Uncle John and Mr. Greg saved me though. In less than ten hours too. I've been kidnapped by armed gunmen who wanted something from Daddy, by drugged out thugs trying to get to Mr. Greg, disgruntled clients of Uncle Sherlock's to show him how they felt, art thieves trying to ransom me for Mr. Ian's paintings, all kinds of people and for all kinds of reasons.

Of course I can't tell my school that. Those instances are all classified. So they think this is the first time. Even if it hadn't been, even if I wasn't who I was and my family wasn't who they were this kidnapping wouldn't have even rated a two on the scare meter. Honestly! An eighteen year old boy, stressed by suddenly being second in class and being beaten by a girl at that? Not even worth the twenty minutes it took me to get myself free of him.

Anyway, my therapist gave me the assignment of writing what I feel about what happened. She's only forced this inane exercise on me because I refuse to talk to her. Honestly, she's a nightmare! She wears a tweed suit! I am not kidding. And it's a terribly tailored one as well. And her glasses, which she doesn't actually need and only wears to make her look more professional, are from the 50s. They have to be. No one would still make those horned-rimmed, fake diamond encrusted monstrosities anymore.

Sorry, went a bit off on a tangent. I do that. It comes from having a family that can follow your train of thought with the speed of light or more in some cases. Exposure to a Holmes brings about an upgrade in intelligent thought. Just ask Sgt. Sally…though she's not a Sargent anymore. Still that's what we all call her. Even her kids and husband sometimes. Mr. Ian loves to tease her with it.

And there I go again. Focus, Bea.

Right. So I'm writing this stupid assignment. Keep a journal the badly dressed idiot tells me. Not a problem. But it won't be what she expects. Most likely she won't believe ninety percent of the experiences I've had but that doesn't bother me. She'll call in my parents who will listen politely as she tells them I'm traumatized and lashing out with lies to compensate. They'll nod in all the right places until she's finished and then Daddy will stand up and tap his brolly on the floor with a frown working its way across his forehead and lips. Mum will smoothly stand up next to him with her eyes snapping her ire and her face completely bland. And then one of them will calmly and with an icy voice tell her that she has no idea what she's talking about. She doesn't know their daughter. Their Bea is not traumatized.

Then they'll gather up the brood of Holmes/Watson/Adler/Brody/Lestrade/Fallon children and take us all home where there will be a family meeting. Then we'll all go to a new school. It is inevitable. So I may as well give the she-beast enough to hang herself with. Maybe she'll say something so outrageous Daddy will lose his temper and yell. I've personally never seen it but Uncle John says it has happened and he'd know. I should record my next meeting with her. That would make even Mr. Greg yell at her. Note to self: record and play a meeting for the family.

And in conclusion: Yes, Daddy, there are two copies of this. One of them is highly edited for the she-beast's consumption and then this one which is for family. Honestly, now that I'm thinking about it we should all make one of these journals and then compare notes. I love to hear about you and Uncle Sherlock and Uncle John as children and I'm sure the others would love any stories any of you so called adults would like to tell. Give it some thought. After you get the she-beast fired and ruin her financially of course.


	2. Colin

**Disclaimer: Yeah I forgot this part last chapter. Honey 'Verse is mine. Characters aren't mine...mostly. So there you go. It's four o'clock in the morning and I'm not feeling all that funny right now. **

**Chapter One: Colin**

I have never kept a diary. As far as I know no one in my family has either. Not even Aunt Irene and she's crazy. Well, I say crazy…anyway, the point is that I'm not altogether sure what I'm actually supposed to write about. I know enough to know that a diary is supposed to be private but since I'm writing this for the express purpose of being read I don't think it's really a diary then.

In that case…hmm, Dr. Brandson wants to know about my childhood even though I'm still technically a child. I'm seventeen in parts of the world that's considered an adult in others it's not. In my family? Uncle Sherlock is still considered a child. Strange that. So are Uncle Ian and Aunt Irene and those three are the crazy ones. Maybe there's something to that. Coleen and Ben and their spouses are still kids too even though they have kids of their own but Aunt Jo says that since she gave birth to Ben and Coleen she gets to think of them as children until the day she dies.

Went off topic again. Stupid genetics.

Anyway, my childhood. It was splendid. Truly. Loved every minute of it. Honestly. Okay so maybe not every minute of it. Let me start at the beginning. That's usually a good place to start, right?

I was born. I don't remember that part though. I personally think that's a good thing though. I mean imagine if your very first memory is of being born. That's enough to traumatize a child for eternity. So I'll start this stupid journal, diary, whatever with my first actual memory. I know other stuff happened before that but I don't remember it so it doesn't matter, right?

My very first memory is of Colin. I knew things of course and back then I'm sure I had other memories. I knew who my mother was and my father too, imagine that. I knew Uncle John and Uncle Sherlock and the others but this is the first clear memory I have.

I was three. Colin was one year and two months old. It was the first time I'd ever met him and he looked down at me from Uncle Sherlock's arms with Uncle John's eyes. I fell in love with him before I knew his name or why he was with my beloved uncles. I didn't know who this little boy was but I knew he was mine.

Even though I tried to evade her, I've already said I don't like to be touched and yes even back then that was the case; Mum took my hand and led me over to stand by Uncle Sherlock. "Bea, this is Colin," she told me gently and then watched my face. Her eyes were so very sad and worried. I didn't know why she would be sad.

I found out later that it was because Uncle John's sister had died and left poor Colin an orphan. No one knew who Colin's biological dad was. We still don't and we don't care. Colin has family and that's all he needs. I did say Colin was mine, didn't I? I'll take care of him and he doesn't need some sperm donor to give his life meaning. We know who he is and he knows who he is. He is Uncle John and Uncle Sherlock's son. He is my…Colin.

Right. Back to the memory.

I tilted my head to the side and stared up at him for a moment longer. I had always loved Uncle John's eyes. They told the entire story of his life if you knew how to look. Colin's eyes are exactly the same shade as Uncle John's. His story is written in his eyes too. They're quite a lot alike actually. "Mine?" I finally asked. "He's for me, right?"

"Bea," my mother began but Uncle John cut her off and knelt in front of me. I know she was going to tell me that a person cannot be owned. I know that, you know. Doesn't stop Colin from being mine though. Uncle John understood that in a way that I don't think Mum did or does even now.

His eyes seemed sad today. As though something bad had happened and he was only just realizing it. But his hand on my shoulder was firm and warm. I didn't flinch away from Uncle John. Not that time. I usually did. Like I said, I don't like people touching me. "Yes, Bea. Colin is for you. You need to be there for him and care for him and be his best friend." His voice was too rough and heartbroken. I didn't like him sounding like that.

I nodded seriously and looked up at the small boy again. "Like you and Uncle Sherlock," I observed. "I have to protect him and love him forever. I can do that. He's mine." It was simple to me. It was only fair that I have my own best friend, like Uncle John had Uncle Sherlock. They'd been together forever and I wanted that too. "Thank you," I told them courteously. "Come on, Colin. I'll show you my star maker. Daddy got it for me." I held up a hand my best friend imperiously.

Colin took his thumb out of his mouth and looked down at me. "'Tars? Colin see 'tars?" He asked. I nodded happily. "But…is day," he pointed towards the window. "No 'tars at day."

I smiled that wide, happy Holmes smile. Colin was a beautifully smart baby. Perfect for my best friend. "I'll show you," I insisted. "It's a machine that makes stars on the ceiling. Just like the universe."

Those hazel eyes widened and he squirmed in Uncle Sherlock's hold. "Weally?" He asked breathlessly. "Colin wanna see. Peas?" He turned those eyes on Uncle Sherlock. Colin really does have Uncle John's eyes because Uncle Sherlock folded at the first glance and set Colin on his feet beside me.

Colin grabbed my hand then and I froze. Normally I didn't like people touching me, even people I knew well. Just like Uncle Sherlock. There was no trauma associated with it. I just didn't like being touched. But then I thought about Uncle John. No matter what mood Uncle Sherlock was in Uncle John could touch him and not be rejected. To my knowledge Uncle Sherlock had never shaken Uncle John away. So that meant that it was okay for Colin to hold my hand. It was okay for Colin to hug me and kiss my cheek and stuff too. But only Colin. Always, only Colin. So I squeezed his little fingers and pulled him towards my lab.

And that is my very first clear memory of life. It seems vastly appropriate to me that it is of Colin. My dear sweet Colin. He's an idiot but he's my idiot so it's fine. Even though other cousins have come along and I love them all Colin is mine. Uncle John said so and Uncle John never lies.


End file.
